Daughters of Rome Read Online Free PDF

so good. Emperors might be wicked or even insane, but they had to be generous. Marcella had heard whispers that Galba was even refusing to pay his Praetorians their usual bounty. “So he should,” Cornelia had said approvingly when she heard that particular rumor. “Galba wants greater discipline in the ranks, higher standards.”
    “Admirable,” Marcella agreed. “And the ranks love being disciplined, don’t they?”
    They did look sullen, the guards I saw at the wedding banquet tonight . . .
    Marcella put her pen down, looking at the shelf where a few modest scrolls were immaculately stored. A woman might not be able to influence history, but she could certainly watch it—analyze it—record it. Marcella had already written histories of Rome’s past Emperors, from Augustus the God to Nero the mad. What a descent. Galba could hardly be anything but an improvement on Nero. Nero’s history was the newest on her shelf, still not quite finished—she had just this morning penned his death, with a pleasant sense of impartiality. A historian must never allow personal opinion to color her writings, after all. Cornelia Secunda, known as Marcella , she had enjoyed jotting down in the mental portrait of herself. A profoundly disinterested and impartial observer of history.
    Being impartial to Nero had been . . . difficult.
    “That incident at the palace.” Tullia had accosted Marcella that spring, shortly after it happened. “It must have been terrible, my dear. Do tell me.”
    “Should I?”
    “Everyone needs a listening ear at such times.”
    “Do they?”
    “Marcella,” Tullia snapped, dropping the cozy coyness, “don’t be difficult!”
    “You want to hear all the details about Emperor Nero, Tullia? How his breath smells? What pomade he uses on his hair?”
    “I don’t—”
    “I’m sure you’re panting to hear every last sweaty detail, but I’m not going to oblige.”
    Off Tullia went. “ Gaius , you will not believe how your sister spoke to me!”
    Well, no use thinking now of Nero with Galba on the throne . An old man, but it seemed certain enough he’d adopt Cornelia’s husband Piso as Imperial heir. Marcella smiled, thinking of her older sister’s regal command of Lollia’s wedding guests as she moved through the crowd. Piso, on her arm, had been dwarfed by all that majestic poise. If he does become Emperor, he’ll be the dullest one we’ve ever had.
    “Marcella?” A peevish voice broke her reverie. “The slaves aren’t cleaning the mosaics properly. Have a word with them?”
    “That’s not my job anymore, Gaius.” Marcella didn’t bother looking up as her brother came into the tablinum , stooping his height under the lintel.
    “Yes, but Tullia will have the slaves lashed for it, and they don’t mean any harm.”
    “You really could have done better for a wife, Gaius.”
    “None of that,” he answered severely. “Our father selected her for me himself, before he died.”
    “And our father was perfect?” Marcella raised her eyebrows. Certainly Cornelia and Gaius seemed determined to remember him that way.
    “He was a great man!”
    “And are any of us the happier for all that greatness?” Marcella said tartly. “Personally, I think great men are overrated.”
    Gaius shifted, uncomfortable. “A Roman’s true duty isn’t happiness. It’s—well, duty.”
    “Martial would have said that better. You never were any good at epigrams, Gaius.” Nor good at much else, truth be told. Marcella looked at her brother: tall, handsome, broad of forehead and sloped of nose, but somehow forgettable. He hadn’t even tried to match their father’s career in the legions, and now the Senate didn’t seem very impressed with him either.
    “Maybe you could write me a few epigrams,” Gaius was hedging. “I could trot them out at parties and look clever.”
    “Only if you pass me all the gossip from the Senate,” Marcella relented. “You know how I love news.”
    “Here’s a bit for